


Kiss Your Homies

by lotsofbigangrybees



Series: All For Myself [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofbigangrybees/pseuds/lotsofbigangrybees
Summary: “Alright, you know I hate to break you out of your brooding silences, but the destination is twenty metres to directly-in-front-of-us-behind-this-bus.” Antonio blinked as he felt Deacon’s presence next to him. This had been happening a lot lately, he’d go off on tangents in his own thoughts while Deacon was around, letting his guard down. It was becoming a problem.
Relationships: Deacon/Male Sole Survivor
Series: All For Myself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853056
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	Kiss Your Homies

**Author's Note:**

> fellas is it gay

“Why are we doing this,  _ again _ ?” Antonio grumbled, adjusting his rifle strap so it stopped cutting into his shoulder. It was late afternoon, and the sun would be setting shortly, which whilst ideal for sneaking about, was not ideal for his still defrosting joints. 

“Becaaause, we pinkie promised Tinker Tom we’d get ‘em all placed, and Dez thought it was a good way to keep both of us out of HQ so we don’t strangle Carrington.” Deacon spun around on his heels as he answered, hands gesticulating wildly as he walked backwards, hopping over debris. Antonio shrugged his shoulders, Carrington  _ was  _ very strangleable at times. “Also we usually snag a handful of caps; which never hurts.” 

He suppressed a chill as the sun dipped below the high rise buildings, clothes weren’t as warm as they used to be, or the weather was still chilly from nuclear winter. Deacon seemed unaffected by the change in temperature, despite his outfit choice of white tee and jeans.  _ Guess he’s running on hot air _ . He chuckled and shook his head, jogging a little to catch up with his partner in crime. 

“Are you laughing to yourself again? You know that’s a sign of insanity, might wanna get it checked out, boss.” 

“If I’m crazy what does that make you?” 

“Crazy’s hot best friend! Or the voice of reason, but I don’t like the sound of that.” Antonio rolled his eyes, pulling out his PipBoy to check the location, he wiped the screen and zoomed in on the glowing green icon indicating the Commonwealth Bank. Once again, he had no idea how they were supposed to ascend to the ridiculous height required for MILA to work, and unfortunately, it almost never involved elevators. The building itself wasn’t that far away, and given that it was a bank, both he and Deacon were prepared to face resistance. 

The Wasteland had made Antonio even more jumpy than he had been before thawing out. Before, sudden footsteps meant he was just paranoid, starting at Nora walking down the hallway. Sometimes they were just part of what his commanding officers had called “an overactive imagination”. Now, his paranoia was founded. Footsteps meant raiders, Gunners, ghouls, super mutants. They meant danger again. That’s part of why he liked travelling with Deacon, they were just as paranoid as each other, so he knew everything had been triple checked. Antonio could hear Deacon coming from the way he never shut up, his recognisable drawl identifying him immediately as someone safe. He smiled as he watched his partner scout ahead, looking around corners and flashing a quick thumbs up before moving on.

It had been easy to fall into a pattern with Deacon. They’d do a few dead drops, check out some safehouses, have a drink at the Third Rail, and stagger back to HQ. From there, Antonio would take Dogmeat and fix up settlements on his way back to Sanctuary, doing an odd job for the Minutemen here and there. He’d stop in with Nick for any news about Shaun, catch up on the latest episodes of “My Neighbor’s A Synth!”, then wait for Trashcan Carla to show up with a familiar caravan guard in tow, signalling the return to the Old North Church. 

Sometimes he wished Deacon would just come back with him to Sanctuary. He’d like it there, nice, quiet, and protected. They could relax and quietly farm until the next shitstorm. He’d even suggested it once, but Deacon had just laughed incredulously. 

_“Yeah, I don’t think that_ Little House on the Prairie _fantasy is gonna work out for me, boss.”_ and that had been that. Antonio was also past the point of asking how Deacon even knew about _Little House on the Prairie_. The guy had a way of knowing things he shouldn’t be able to. 

“Alright, you know I hate to break you out of your brooding silences, but the destination is twenty metres to directly-in-front-of-us-behind-this-bus.” Antonio blinked as he felt Deacon’s presence next to him. This had been happening a lot lately, he’d go off on tangents in his own head while Deacon was around, letting his guard down. It was becoming a problem. He shook his head and brought himself back to the present. “Sometimes I wonder where you go, in that big ol’ head of yours, boss.” His voice was low, and he was so close. 

Antonio could feel him, a comforting presence radiating warmth, millimetres away.

“Thought I told you to stop calling me ‘boss’; if anything you’re the one who knows what he’s doing.” Deacon put a hand to his chest in a mock gasp, eyebrows shooting up from behind the sunglasses.

“I’m honored and touched that you think I know what I’m doing, and it’s no can do on the boss thing, it allows me to live out my Old World mobster fantasies.” He was grinning again, drinking in Antonio’s exasperation. Maybe it was a good thing they were never in Sanctuary together for long. 

For basic recon, Deacon took the lead, but when it came time to start shooting things it was Antonio’s turn. He pulled his sniper rifle around to his front and looked through the scope. Two turrets puttered on either side of the large sign reading ‘BANK’. Someone had made a base here. The important thing was to ascertain if they were going up against run of the mill raiders, or Gunners. One meant a few quick headshots, and some work from Deliverer if things got serious. The other meant the possibility of an Assaultron, which would require some heavier ammunition. He risked creeping further around the side of the bus, looking for the telltale Gunner insignia. A flicker of movement from the side of the building caught his eye, sporting green military fatigues.

Bingo. 

“Bad news special agent Deacon, we’ve got Gunners.” Deacon grimaced, knuckles going white as he gripped his own rifle tighter. “How badly does Tom need that thing placed?” 

“Well, if we come back and it’s still with us, we may push him further into chem-addled mania, and Dez will give us a disappointed mother look.” 

“So, completely necessary.” Deacon nodded, tight-lipped. “Right, so here’s the plan. We take out the turrets first, bringing out any guards. Give those guys the old one-two, and sneak on in. I’m banking- that wasn’t intentional- on there being an old Protectron inside. We hide while it takes care of anyone inside, and let it draw fire. If an Assaultron shows up and hasn’t been damaged by the Protectron, we chuck a grenade and run, MILA be damned. Sound good?” 

“Sir yes sir, and may I say, special agent Whisper, that was some very sexy strategizing just then.” Deacon gave a mock salute, and Antonio elected to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, looking at the ground. 

The first phase of the plan passed without a hitch, both turrets exploding with two clean shots; drawing two Gunner conscripts into the open. He and Deacon fired at the same time, taking both of them out. A cursory rummage through the corpses’ pockets revealed a few caps, which Antonio tucked away while Deacon wrinkled his nose, heading towards the large double doors. 

Upon entering they crouched down, Antonio signalling to move behind the desk, his eyes glancing over the Protectron unit docked nearby. Good to know that no one had worked out how to hack in two hundred and ten years. Footsteps shuffled above, and he looked to Deacon, who nodded his head, confirming that he could hear them too. The terminal glowed a pale green across the dim reception area, but wasn’t bright enough to cast their shadows. 

“You got this boss; like we practiced, just press the right buttons.” Deacon whispered, miming typing as Antonio moved behind the terminal. 

“It’s easier to press the right buttons when someone isn’t pushing yours.” He hissed back. Thankfully, he got it on the first try, ignoring Deacon silently clapping behind him. The Protectron whirred to life, both men wincing as it stomped up the stairs. They readied their guns, but stayed behind the safety of the reception desk as the sounds of gunshots permeated the quiet building. 

He and Deacon were watching each other, or it seemed that way at least, it was hard to tell where Deacon was looking most of the time. Antonio had still never seen Deacon’s eyes, which was something he thought about a little too often for it to just be friendly curiosity. He wondered if they were brown like his, rich and dark, full of secrets. Were they blue, full of life and brimming with energy? Were they green, changing with the atmosphere? Deacon waved a hand in front of his face, bringing him back again. 

“You’ve gotta stop disappearing on me, I get lonely when it’s just me and your lean mean sniping machine body.” Antonio smiled sheepishly, putting a finger to his lips. The gunshots were becoming less frequent, and the Protectron’s footsteps above them were becoming more of a shuffle. The fragmentation grenade felt heavy in his hands, his palms becoming increasingly sweaty as the Protectron stuttered out its final words. 

The deafening sound of an Assaultron beam concluded the battle, kicking them both into action. They stealthily ascended the stairs, straining to hear the Assaultron’s reading of their location. It was momentarily disoriented by the Protectron’s explosion, providing Antonio with an opportunity to throw the grenade. It landed closer to him than intended, but close enough to the Assaultron to pack a punch, especially when it was already damaged from it’s earlier tangle. He turned to shield Deacon from the blast, unintentionally crowding him against the wall, moving so suddenly that the other man had put his hands up, and they now rested on his chest, open palmed.

Antonio’s breath hitched, and he looked away, turning his head, which was worse, because now he could feel Deacon’s breath against his neck, panting breaths that implied a different circumstance. 

Seconds later he felt the heat as the grenade exploded, and he sprang back, diving behind an impromptu barricade, firing off a few shots from Deliverer. Deacon was frozen for a second, but eventually retreated back down the stairs, firing a few warning shots from over the banister. The Assaultron turned its head, sparks flying from its joints as it locked on Antonio, laser beam heating up. He kept firing from behind the crate, ready to run the moment it let loose. Deacon let off a few shots every now and then, but frontal assault wasn’t his thing. It wasn’t really Antonio’s either, but one of them had to draw fire from the other. 

A high pitched hum heralded the activation of the Assaultron’s beam, and Antonio rolled away, hissing as he felt the laser graze his shoulder, branding him. He ducked into another room, looking frantically through his pack for a shotgun, hoping the robot would take it’s time cooling down before searching for closer prey. He heard it start to run, followed by a yelp from Deacon, and quick footsteps. Shells loaded, he leapt back out, locking on the Assaultron, firing three quick shots into its back, causing it to turn around again. It stood between him and Deacon, the latter of which was hyperventilating. 

The shotgun had caused some internal damage, but they still needed something to whittle away the last of its fortitude. He felt in his pocket for the second fragmentation grenade, making a split second decision as the robot’s head began to whir and heat up once more. Another shell shot into its body and it staggered backwards. Antonio took the chance and pulled the ring on the grenade, stuffing it into a cavity in its chest, ignoring the sting of hot metal against his palms, before running down the stairs to tackle Deacon back behind the reception desk. 

And there they were again. Deacon with his back pressed against the inside of the desk, Antonio practically straddling him. They were both panting heavily, waiting once more for a grenade to go off. He jumped as he felt a hand gently touch his burnt shoulder, and retreat when he flinched. The hand moved to the crook of his neck. Antonio placed his own hand atop it, and closed his eyes as the Assaultron exploded, metres away. 

There was a hot, white flash, and Antonio closed his eyes, clutching Deacon’s hand. A piece of debris clattered behind them, still red hot. He stayed there for what seemed like hours, eyes closed, holding Deacon like a lifeline. 

The sound of the explosion echoed in his brain, growing larger and larger until it engulfed everything. Bones of people he used to know, skeletons still dressed for work. People clamoring at a gate, pleading for a chance to live. Vertibirds and suits of power armor nesting in his neighborhood, the deafening sound of panic. Cold penetrated every part of his body, sneaking in through crevices and taking hold, eating away at his vitality. 

“Hey, you can open your eyes, it’s over.” someone whispered below him. A hand on his face, a thumb brushing a tear from his cheekbones. “Shit, are you alright, boss?” a shaky breath. “Boss?” A second hand. Someone cupping his face, bringing warmth back to his frozen body. 

Right. 

Antonio opened his eyes, and was met with a pompadour wig, sunglasses, and pursed lips. The Assaultron, MILA, all that stuff. Deacon’s hands were cupping his face. Antonio was still practically on top of him, and they were close. So close they were practically breathing the same air. His face heated up again, and he scrambled off, wiping at his eyes. Cool. That wasn’t embarrassing. 

“Let’s go set that thing up.” he said, standing and kicking at the pieces of Assaultron that littered the floor. Deacon got up after him, clearing his throat, but otherwise following silently. A less panicked exploration of the floor above revealed a stairway, which in most cases meant more Gunners, but if they hadn’t rushed down at the sound of the activated Protectron and the Assaultron explosion, they’d either left the building or wouldn’t be a problem. 

They ascended three floors in total silence, leaving the stairwell only to check if the Gunners had left behind anything useful. 

Opening the door to the rooftop was a relief, the higher above Boston you were, the cleaner the air seemed to become. Didn’t stop it from being cold though. The sun had set even further, and the city was bathed in a rare orange glow, with pink streaky clouds painting the horizon. It was a sunset he hadn’t been able to appreciate in over two hundred years. 

“Alright, pass me MILA, let’s get this over with.” He called over his shoulder at Deacon. All he got in response was the sound of Deacon scuffing his shoes on concrete. Antonio whipped around. “Deacon,” the spy cleared his throat and looked away. “Where is MILA?” Still no response. “Deacon please tell me that when you said Tinker Tom, our dear friend, had asked you to place another MILA, you actually took the thing.” Deacon put up his hands and backed up a step. 

“Okay, so promise you won’t be mad?” 

“Like the pinkie promise we made Tom or a real one?” Deacon laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, walking to the centre of the rooftop. 

“So, hypothetically, if there were two members of the Railroad, and they were partners, out doing good and kicking evil’s butt, and they were the best of friends, and then one of them noticed the other was really stressed and had mentioned that they missed Old World sunsets off handedly, and-” Deacon was rambling. And not in his usual controlled banter way. 

Antonio crossed his arms and let it play out. “-the other one scouted out a building that had a great view and was completely empty just the other day so they fabricated a plan that _ might  _ have involved slight subterfuge,  _ if  _ that happened do you think the other Railroad agent should be mad when the building isn’t clear because the other guy was really just trying to help and-” 

“So, is this like-uh, your weird way of asking me ou-” 

“Now, I wouldn’t call it that but boy, things sure get crazy when you’re trying not to get exploded by an Assaultron, right?” Deacon cut him off, sitting down near the edge of the building, Boston sprawling out beneath, the orange glow turning to a deep red as the sun dipped behind distant hills. Antonio watched his partner’s back, and remembered how his hands had felt on his face, warm, safe, gentle.  _ God, this was messed up.  _

“Well, I guess if that were the case, the other Railroad agent would probably say something like: Nothing like a life or death situation to make you appreciate the sunset more.” Antonio sat down next to Deacon, eyes trained on the horizon. “Not to mention the person you’re sharing it with. But he might also say: Maybe keep your intel fresh next time.” Deacon huffed a laugh, drawing his knees up into himself. 

“Yeah, that was a dick move on that agent’s part, wasn’t it? If only the other guy would believe he was sorry, and just wanted to do something nice.” 

“I think he’d believe it, he’s pretty understanding as far as agents of secret organisations go.” They sat in silence, watching the sunset for a moment. 

Lights flickered on across the city, in Diamond City, Goodneighbor, and raider settlements. For a moment, it was like Boston was born again. Gunshots had stopped, and there was no shouting. For now, it was just two Railroad agents and a beautiful sky. 

The first stars began to twinkle into being before long, and Antonio chanced a glance over at Deacon, watching the gooseflesh rise up his arms. 

“Would it be corny if I pretended to yawn and stretch, or should I just ask if you’re cold?” Deacon turned to look at him, and briefly, Antonio thought he caught a flash of blue. 

“Depends on the lady, boss.” He shook his head, and scooted over, wrapping an arm around Deacon, smiling as he felt him relax, and lean his head onto his chest. “I had a present for you, you know. It sort of depended on how the day went whether I thought you’d earnt it or not, though.” 

“You sure talk a lot for a guy who almost got us killed for the sake of a sunset.” Deacon tilted his head to look up at him, and even though Antonio couldn’t see his eyes, he looked serious. 

“I  _ am _ sorry, and I know it’s hard to believe anything that comes out of me, but you’ll have to, just this once.” Antonio let his cheek rest on the top of Deacon’s head, wig tickling his jaw. 

“So, what was the present?” 

“I knew you’d be intrigued. It might take some time to get ready, and I personally think it’s quite bold, so you’re going to have to trust me.” 

“So long as I’m not trusting that you have a MILA, we should be good.” Deacon disentangled himself, and sat up on his knees. 

“I know this is usually a big no-no for you, but do you reckon you could close your eyes?” Antonio pretended to think for a moment, and obliged. He heard Deacon’s clothes rustle as he moved, but willed himself to stay still, eyes closed. A hand rested gently on his knee, and he jumped as another came to cup one side of his face. He could feel Deacon above him, breathing uneven. He was nervous. 

“Just, ah- don’t tell anyone at HQ about this, please.” 

Antonio was about to reply when soft, slightly chapped lips pressed lightly against his.

_ Oh. _

They were gone almost immediately, but Antonio reached forward, and felt out Deacon’s face, pulling it close. He brought them together again, still soft, and tentative. His hand moved, and felt short stubble. He ran his fingers through it gently, and felt Deacon inhale sharply. No wig. This most likely meant no glasses either. Antonio dutifully kept his eyes closed, but deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out, asking for permission. Another sharp inhale, the hand on his knee moving further up his leg, clothes rustling again as Deacon drew closer, opening his mouth slightly and gently nipping Antonio’s bottom lip. He took this as a go ahead, and moved his tongue against Deacon’s, sucking gently. 

Deacon withdrew first, panting, sighing as Antonio switched to peppering kisses at his jaw. He rested their foreheads together, Antonio still with his eyes closed, despite wanting to open them so desperately. What colour was Deacon’s hair? His eyes? What did he look like now? Was he blushing? But it wasn’t time to find out, and before long Deacon had withdrawn completely. 

“You can open your eyes now, boss.” It was barely a whisper. He wasn’t disappointed when Deacon was the same as he had been before, wig and sunglasses back in place. “So, same time next week? For the Railroad I mean, we don’t have to do this again. I’d understand that.” For the second time since Antonio had been travelling with him, he sounded nervous. 

“Sounds good, Deacon.” He offered a small smile. “And, for the record, you don’t have to wait until next week to do this again, so long as you don’t mind.” Deacon’s eyebrows shot up above his sunglasses, and a flush crept up his neck. 

“Well uh- in that case, I’ll see you when Trashcan Carla has another caravan guard opening.” 

“I’d like that, Deacon

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! critique is welcomed  
> also does anyone actually play fallout 4 in 2020 or is it just me lmao  
> (also i have a tumblr @homebrandailis where im doin fallout stuff at the moment hehe)


End file.
